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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905428">Strange Bedfellows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethes/pseuds/alethes'>alethes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Baldur's Gate, Dungeons &amp; Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adventure &amp; Romance, BG3, Baldur's Gate 3 Spoilers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Build, Spoilers, Theories Abound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethes/pseuds/alethes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods have returned, so say the priests and sages. But it’s not as it was – it hasn’t been for a long time. Meanwhile, people are being abducted, and the names of the Dead Three are being invoked with fear, even reverence, with increasing frequency. What will it mean for Aster, uprooted from a life with complications enough already? And what will it mean for them all, when the choice is between losing all that they are, and becoming something far greater?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Do I think all this will happen? Some of it maybe, certainly not all of it. But I'm having more fun than I expected while the plot remains open. Love Larian for injecting such inspiration into my days. Love all of those who have followed my writing with interest. This is going to be a longer piece than I've tackled before, given what I have plotted so far. I only hope that I will get to the end of a part of it before life gets busy again.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Wake up, Poppet”</em>
</p><p><em>Warmth blooms against her arm and neck as her world is set aglow before she can open her eyes.</em> It’s too early<em>, she thinks, whining her displeasure and turning over on her side to hide from the sun. </em></p><p>
  <em>“Come on, now, you were meant to be up by godswake,” he chides with a tone that brooks no argument, tempered by a chuckle that is warm and smooth like honey in spring. The clattering of cedar curtain hangs follow closely behind, then, the tell-tale squeak of hinges. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He smells of barley and hops. It blows through her, and she wrinkles her nose and curls her toes, shrinking herself into a tight ball to fend off the cold air he has let in. But it’s no use. The covers are tossed aside, to be replaced with rough trousers and a leather thong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She flops helplessly against them and cracks an eye open when he laughs at her theatrics, “The wheat’s dried. Gotta bring it in, or we lose the last harvest before first frost.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She grumbles, almost, because his eyes are distracted, and she senses his worry – another thin yield, like the one before, and another before that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ll be outside.” He turns away, his back an impenetrable alien thing that fades past the light.</em>
</p><p>No, don’t go.</p><p>
  <em>She should move. She has to move. She heaves herself over and into pants and boots, belting up her tunic with hasty fingers, calling for him as she trips toward the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It opens to the smell of fire and burnt oats, and her heart pounds to a dreadful beat. Where Selûne and her stars should have been, she finds, instead, is a blanket of smog and glowing embers that rise with the flames. Screams and shouts fill the air, of confusion, fear, and the fruitless beseeching to silent gods. </em>
</p><p><em>A shadow tromps by her, kicking up blood and dirt with a whinny and a growl, burning like a beast that had leapt out of the very Hells. It misses her narrowly, </em>as someone pulls her out of the way. It’s mother, her hair wild, and her eyes frantic.</p><p>
  <em>“</em>
  <em>愚蠢的孩儿</em>
  <em>! I’d thought… I” She doesn’t finish, only pulls her close. She’s shaking, and squeezing her so tightly that the plates of her gloves cut into her cheek. She smells of sweat and metal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But her touch recedes after a breath. She’s turned away, checking her sides. “Go to the town hall-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sound of arrows whistling through the air cuts her off and she’s pulling her down again, shielding them both behind her wooden targe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thuk! Thunk! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She grunts, bracing herself against the impact as two metal tips peek through the wood. “Follow the bells. Papa’s there with the rest. 留在那儿! Don’t go anywhere else! Do you understand?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then she’s turning. She’s falling away.</em>
</p><p>Come back. Please.</p><p>
  <em>The ground shudders - a ball of light approaches, burning like a falling sun, and she’s pushed away as the Earth Mother’s name fades against her ear. Glass shatters and skin bubbles when it lands, sending heat and blessed air into her cage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There is a prickling sensation in her belly about two days old, and a thirst in her throat that had nothing to do with the fire. She lurches forward, and an outcropping causes her to stumble, hissing with pain as shards of broken glass bite into her palms and knees.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her hands feel unsteady, and her vision doubles as she stares at the blood snaking down her wrist. It trickles into a memory – of tentacles, tadpoles and slime, and Tarquin shrieking with unabated terror, as he galloped away and the world got smaller. Someone, somewhere was going to be richer for the cargo he had carted off. </em>
</p><p>Go. You need to go.</p><p>
  <em>Her breaths come in shallow and fast. They fill her lungs up with more ash and heat than air, and the world spins uncomfortably. She trips again over something slippery and stiff, and lands to find herself face-to-face with beady eyes and more tentacles flapping in the wind. She screams, scrabbling backwards on her hands and ass, but it is dead. She kicks it hard for good measure, with a snarl.</em>
</p><p>Sark it all. Get me out of here.</p><p>
  <em>She has little else but the clothes on her back, but her kama remains at her belt – its utility a faint comfort. She uses it to tear fabric from the corpse to wrap around her weeping hands. It staunches the bleeding and muffles the pain as she grasps her weapon in hand. After a thought, she tears off some more to wrap around her mouth and nose. </em>
</p><p>“You are lost. I know what you need.”</p><p>
  <em>She coughs behind the coverings as the world spins again. But it turns around her, not with her. The pulsing walls stretch out before her into infinity, stuttering and convulsing to a beat she doesn’t know. She can’t recognise it – she won’t recognise it. Her grip tightens around her weapon’s haft, and bites down on the pain it sends up her arm. It is a solid thing, this pain – it keeps her grounded as she girds herself with her blade, leading with her right and her stance held low. </em>
</p><p>Forward.</p><p>
  <em>Jars of brains in brine light the way, embedded into the walls like glass lanterns. They bathe the corridor in a ruby glow and hum, in concert, a beguiling tune that burrows its way past skin, flesh, and bone – down into her marrow. She draws again on that hurt, but their song tugs her forwards, drawn like a fish on a string.</em>
</p><p>“I will slake your wanting.”</p><p>
  <em>She is upended – her stomach drops. Something jostles underfoot and she is flipped off her feet as the tunnel turns vertical, throwing her down. Down. Down. Her blade swings wide. It pierces the fleshy wall and tears through it like butter as she continues to zip down the pulsating tract. She almost slips when it hits a knot of dense flesh, halting her descent, but the walls are slick and she can’t gain a foothold. Her legs dangle uselessly, dragging on her arm and blood, sweat and other unnamed fluids trickle down her arm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She tenses her back and pulls, finding a grip with both hands, though the haft has grown wet with sweat, blood and mucus. It gains her some leverage to swing herself back. She tightens her abdomen and cages hips to hurl her upwards, just enough – just a bit more. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The curve of her kama slides out as she lifts and, for a moment, she is weightless – caught in an airless pocket without sensation or feeling till gravity reasserts itself. It pierces the wall again. She grapples higher, and she braces herself for the inertia of her landing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But it’s not enough. Her grip slips and she’s clawing at air. She’s falling – through darkness, through fire, through light.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Into nothing.</em>
</p><p>“Find me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>15 Uktar 1494 DR</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oof, that sounded like a hard landing.” Gale’s bearded visage popped out from around the rim of the hole, a note of humour to his voice though his expression was lost to the shade of the sun. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Aster muttered an oath, her ass stinging from the fall. She’d managed to walk herself right into a concealed pit while her mind was elsewhere. At least it wasn’t a spiked pit, she thought, propping herself up to check her surroundings.</p><p>"肏你, I'm fine. Help me up?"</p><p>Gale looked over his shoulder. "Hold a moment, looks like Astarion found some rope."</p><p>She got to her feet as he disappeared past the edge and patted dirt from her palms on her pants. Unsurprisingly, a morning's worth of wandering the wilderness had found them neither temple, nor township, just a bunch of dubious traps.</p><p>This pit had been hastily dug out by the looks of it - deep enough to be a nuisance, but not inescapable. Soil and red clay crumbled off the walls of exposed roots in packed clumps when she picked at it. Reasonably moist but well-drained - could be that the hole was still quite new. More pertinently, its dry packed surface made it easier to scale.</p><p>A line of rope tumbled down along the side, and Aster called out a warning before giving it an experimental tug. When Astarion shouted something she couldn’t catch from somewhere beyond her sight, she took it as a go-ahead to begin pulling herself up. She winced as she grasped the rope through her bandages and began her ascent, finding footholds in the dirt where the climb got tricky. It wasn’t long before she was over the ledge, a bit winded but none the worse for wear.</p><p>“Grateful as I am that it wasn’t Gale down there,” Astarion muttered as he massaged his aching arms, his voice like dripping honey even as he griped and grumbled, “you weigh a lot more than you look.”</p><p>Gale guffawed and pretended to examine his fingers. “A good thing too – these delicate nails wouldn’t have survived the climb up.”</p><p>“Gods forbid you find more than a paper cut on those scholar’s hands,” Aster quipped, helping the elf coil the rope into a manageable bundle to save for later. “Have they ever lifted anything heavier than a quill?”</p><p>“They have their uses…” he said with a small frown and clasped his hands behind his back.</p><p>She cast him a sidelong look, sensing the shift in his tone. “Problem?”</p><p>“That’s the third we’ve come across,” he continued with a small shrug, avoiding her gaze when she narrowed her eyes. “I get the feeling that whoever’s been setting up these snares doesn’t want to be found.”</p><p>The traps weren’t what got Gale’s pants in a knot, not all of it, but she set it aside to consider the implications of the pit behind them. Death would’ve been a better deterrent, and the traps they’d found so far could barely have tickled a rabbit.</p><p>Briefly, she considered the less pleasant possibility of yet another aspiring kidnapper playing hijinks. But it sounded insane – what were the chances that two separate entities would seek out their capture within the span of days? There was, of course, the possibility that these would-be captors were simply incompetent, or had strange ideas of what a warm welcome entailed. Regardless, if a few avoidable and/or escapable and non-lethal traps were the worst she’d have to contend with, Aster wasn’t overly fussed.</p><p>She was a lot more concerned about her lost caravan.  Strange though their situation might be, Marenas still remained a problem. Whether she survived this, the elf would surely come banging on her proverbial door to demand his due. Once, they’d missed a shipment. Blight entered the Fields on the edge of that harvest, and people soon began to go missing till their debt was paid in full. No one knew for sure if one event correlated with the other – the abbot sure as shit didn’t push for an investigation, neither did the Enclave. But they knew, everyone knew, and no one would try to risk it again. </p><p>They were nowhere near the Dessarin River now. Any road back to the Goldenfields would take weeks at least. She adjusted her collar uncomfortably and undid the front of her padded vest to let the wind cool her heated skin. The short climb had worked up a sweat. More than that though, it was warm – warmer than it should be so close to the winter solstice. It told her that they were further south. Beyond that, she couldn’t know for sure. But the body of fresh water nearby was a good sign. Between that and well-worn dirt road they were trekking, their chances of finding a settlement within the tenday seemed high – and with that, a means of getting a message home. It was all she could do for now.</p><p>“These traps weren’t made to kill, or even to maim,” she said out loud as they continued on their way. “Can’t say what they intend. I’d keep my guard up.”</p><p>“Don’t you worry your little head,” came Astarion’s lilting drawl from behind, “I’ll keep you safe.”</p><p>She snorted incredulously. “You tried to kill me, Astarion.”</p><p>“I was delirious and frightened from the crash,” he scoffed and leaned in, “can you really hold that against me? Come, you’ll find that I can be incredibly… accommodating.”</p><p>“You’d try to ‘accommodate’ me right into your bed, I’d expect, then to the end of your blade, given a chance.”</p><p>“You wound me,” he gasped with feigned hurt, “and just after I pulled you from that pit. You, saer, have a cruel tongue, and an even crueller wit.</p><p>I like it.”</p><p>Aster made a face, wondering, for the second time since she’d agreed to travel with the elf, why she hadn’t just left him after that trick he tried to pull with the pig. Gale had the same idea, judging by the dubious expression he’d shot at them both. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to work with someone she disagreed with. Astarion had relented in the end, and it was difficult to deny that they were connected somehow, as she was with the mage, even if they hadn’t yet figured out how, beyond the tadpoles in their heads.</p><p>The truth was, she’d rather have him in her sights than outside of them, not knowing if or when he’d ambush them while their guards were down. Something about the elf didn’t add up. Aster didn’t know how the courts of Baldur’s Gate worked, but magistrates by and large weren’t the sort to get their own hands dirty. Astarion, for all his guile, certainly didn’t move like someone who spent his days stamping missives and adjudicating disputes.</p><p>“I’m sure you do, you demented pinwheel.” She sighed and followed Gale up a small rise. “It’s all very flattering, I’m sure, but I’d sooner trade an Amphailan mare for a stalk of wheat.”</p><p>“She has taste too.” Astarion said, smirking when she clicked her tongue irritably.</p><p>She had nothing to say to that. Engaging with the elf’s strange flirting only seemed to egg him on. She returned her attention to the tracks they’d been following instead. There were signs that at least one other person had come this way, following the river as they were – another survivor of the crash, perhaps.</p><p>She found Gale crouched low at the end of the slope, peeking around an outcropping of rocks and bushes. He motioned for them to be quiet as they approached and cocked his head at the sound of quarrelling coming from further below the ravine. A crude cage hung suspended over it.</p><p>“Two tieflings… and a gith in a cage. We may have found our trappers.”</p><p>“A what?” Aster leaned closer for a better view, with Astarion following suit. She made a face when she spotted Lae’zel’s familiar and surly visage.</p><p>She tutted. “We worked together to escape the ship.”</p><p>“Indeed? Yet she’s there and you’re here,” the elf said archly. “Had a difference of opinion, did you?”</p><p>A half shrug. “She tried to kill me too.”</p><p>Gale shot her a strange look over his shoulder. “You don’t set a high bar for your allies, do you.”</p><p>“Lae’zel fights well,” Aster replied simply.</p><p>They watched the tieflings circle the cage, arguing about what they ought to do with their prisoner. The woman was nervous and twitchy while her male counterpart seemed adamant on making an example of their catch.</p><p>“We should intervene,” Gale frowned, moving to do just that.</p><p>Astarion hissed and tugged at the mage’s arm sharply, pulling him back down. “And do what exactly? They’re well-armed – far better than we are.”</p><p>The elf had a point – both were clad in well-wrought mail and fitted leathers, the sort that soldiers might have, and yet…</p><p>“We could take them.” Aster said evenly, following their movements with an appraising eye. Heads and necks were exposed, if one could get past those horns, and the girl had an unpractised gait and fiddled with her bow like it sat poorly in her hands. They could also pick them off from afar before being spotted. “… I’m fairly sure, and it’s three against two.” She jerked her chin at the captured gith with a sour look. “I doubt she would show you much gratitude for it, however.”</p><p>Gale sighed wearily at them both and stepped out from behind their cover.</p><p>“Hail!” he began affably, “I-akh!”</p><p>No sooner had he stepped out into the open that an arrow shot through his head, causing Gale to fall over in a crumpled heap, blood and teal mist pooling around him. His two companions shrunk deeper into the covering foliage, startled by the abrupt downward turn of events.</p><p>“Nymessa!” One of the tieflings gasped, sounding about as taken aback as they were. “You just <em>killed</em> a person!”</p><p>“I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about.” Nymessa retorted, growing increasingly agitated, “He’s not the first, and h-he won’t be the last with these goblins around. Besides, he shouldn’t have just-augh!”</p><p>Nymessa screamed, and there was a scuffle of fleeing footsteps as her partner ran after her, calling for her to slow down. “We need to stick together! Nymessa!”</p><p>“What could that have been about?” Astarion mused, sheathing his knife and breaking cover as he watched the two tieflings disappear past a copse of trees.</p><p>Aster had an inkling, for standing over them was Gale or, at least, a faithful, albeit immaterial, representation of him. She waved a hand through it curiously, but it only tipped its head at them patiently, a beatific note to its smile. “Fuck me.”</p><p>“Well met!” It greeted them with a cheery wave before turning suddenly serious. “I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep, and if you see this manifestation, that means I have prematurely perished.</p><p>However, for reasons that cannot be disclosed, it is of vital importance that my death be remedied at your earliest convenience.” It continued gravely, fixing them with a look that bore no humour. ”You may rest assured that I do not speak out of self-preservation alone – many lives depend on my return to the living within the span of two days. I trust I’ve made myself clear?”</p><p>Astarion made a face as Gale’s projection continued to list out a long series of instructions involving a pouch, a flute and an imp, speaking as though uninterrupted. “Ugh, he’s as insufferably longwinded dead as he is alive.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Her mouth slanted with sobering humour. It was one more absurd thing to add to the pile of ridiculously outlandish events to have happened within the span of days – but Gale being dependably Gale felt a bit like a rock in a thunderstorm, short though their acquaintance might have been. Idly, she wondered just how much of Gale was in this copy of him, or if it were a simple record of a few choice responses.</p><p>“K’ha’sshi’trak’ash?” she repeated carefully.</p><p>“’trach’ <em>– Chh</em>. From the back of the throat.” It patiently corrected.</p><p>“This is all ridiculously elaborate.” Astarion muttered, tracing the lines of its visage as though trying to spot a flaw in its verisimilitude, or an adequate point of entry for his blade to land in a way that would reap him the greatest amount of pleasure.</p><p>“I think ingenious is the word you’re looking for,” the Gale projection said with a hint of pride, blissfully unaware of the elf’s scrutiny. “Now, repeat my instructions back to me, please.”</p><p>She tutted, waving away its request for clarity. “I’ve got it – seams, notes, names – the lot.”</p><p>“Then this shall be an easy exercise,” it said with a stern wag of a finger, as though it were attempting to school two particularly slow six-year olds. Aster wrinkled her nose. It was a faithful representation of the man after all. “Now, Step one?”</p><p>“肏。 Bugger off, Gale, so we can get this done before you rot away and we explode into mindflayers.”</p><p>“Have it your way.” It shot them a disapproving frown. “I can only hope your memory stretches further than your patience.”</p><p>She shooed it off and shifted to reach for the pouch it had described, only to have the edge of her boot blacken alarmingly as it came into contact with the noxious mist that had settled around the mage’s corpse.</p><p> “Useless <em>istiki</em>.” Lae’zel made an irritated noise from her cage as Aster stumbled backwards. She barely spares them a glance, her suspended prison spinning lazily on its tether. “Confused by a simple bit of necrotic energy? It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”</p><p>Aster started. She’d forgotten all about the gith amidst the commotion. Lae’zel was a lot less impressive squashed into her little pyramid of vines and branches, though that scowl of hers could still freeze the sun. She shook it off and began searching about for a long stick she could use.</p><p>“Surprised I made it out without you?” she sniped, looking down the length of a promising piece as she tested its rigidity.</p><p>“Even a cracked egg hatches eventually.”</p><p>Aster bit back on a retort.  If Lae’zel had nothing worth adding, she’d have nothing to say. She lowered a branch over the turquoise mist to gauge the extent of its virulent aura, and was heartened to find that it only reached about a palm’s width before it began tapering off. Overall, not the greatest obstacle she’d ever had to cross. “Let’s hear it then – what would your solution be?”</p><p>“Leave the mage, and let us find my crèche that we may rid ourselves of these tadpoles.”</p><p>“Of course.” Aster clucked her tongue. She hadn’t missed Astarion’s apparent lack of protest either. “You realise he died trying to keep them from gutting you like a rat in a trap?” She reached the branch further across the mist and poked experimentally at Gale’s pouch. “How would your bleeding crèche help anyway?”</p><p>“They are healthy and unwounded,” The gith sneered. “And they’ll accomplish more than anything your lesser selves could scrounge together on your own.” She peered down at them over the narrow ridge of her nose. “Kachoki. Have you already forgotten about the ghaik parasite? Our time runs short. Let me out and I’ll tell you.”</p><p>Aster made a vague sound as she considered their options, unwilling to place her trust in the githyanki again. Her offer of a solution was not necessarily the same as an offer to help, but they were lost in the wilderness with few alternatives to spare.</p><p>She glanced at Astarion who merely shrugged. “I’d consider it,” he said mildly – a comforting thought to have to rely on allies who would likely abandon her as easily – Lae’zel had already tried. Aster sighed and returned her attention to Gale’s corpse. The shitting gith could stand to wait a while longer.</p><p>Unhooking her kama, she reached gingerly over the noxious waft of necrotic mist and snatched the pouch off Gale’s belt with a light touch of the edge of its blade. Then, unwinding at the purple string counter clockwise, she proceeded with the dead man’s instructions.</p><h3>**</h3><p>Gale was exceedingly grateful to be alive, exaltingly so. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected to need the scroll so soon. That he did was mildly vexing – oh, how the mighty had fallen. But he was alive, and the land around him hadn’t been dragged into the Shadowfell – a point worth celebrating to be sure.</p><p>He watched as the human, the elf, and the githyanki – of all things – bickered amongst themselves over the best course of action, like the start of a tale right out of the Yawning Portal. Perhaps it was a temporary effect of the resurrection, or an older sort of magic… Maybe it was even the tadpoles in them, drawn together by some twisted will to congregate – an unnerving thought… but Gale found himself feeling oddly sanguine.</p><p>Connection was what it was – how long had it been since he was around people? Locked up in his tower, and deprived of company, while he tried to find a solution to his untenable desire to anticipate the fickle fancies of a being so unknowable that she was dubbed the Lady of Mysteries.</p><p>Gale was no fool. A part of him knew that those days were gone, when he was one of her Chosen, even if he didn’t understand why. He knew that their union was not uncommon amongst her most devoted, even though he’d felt her ardour as surely as his own. Gale <em>knew</em> that his attempt to draw her attentions to him once more was to be a hopeless enterprise… even if that realisation had come too late.</p><p>Now, he was in too deep… To fail would mean destruction of a magnitude he could not bear, but to lose it all, on the other hand, to simply give up and relinquish the creature – after all that he had sacrificed – would mark a blow to his pride that he wasn’t sure he’d recover from.</p><p>Gale scratched absently at the place just below his heart, feeling the tsochar writhe within the cavity of his chest. It pressed uncomfortably against his organs, and sapped at his connection to the Weave each time he uttered so much as a cantrip. Were it not for the minor conduit to negative energy that he’d opened to suppress it, he surely would have been taken over long ago.</p><p>… And so long as he had his mind, he’d have time enough to puzzle out a means to steal his Lady’s prize from the parasite before getting rid of it for good… Or such was the plan, at least, before he had to contend with two aberrant passengers riding his body on a lark. His more recent tenant had now put him on a deadline that he was nowhere close to breaking even on.</p><p>What would happen when he burst out in tentacles, he wondered? – Because it wasn’t an ‘if’ but a ‘how’, given how far from a solution they really were.</p><p>Strictly speaking, he wouldn’t change very much at all, not anatomically – at least from the neck down – and, from what he understood, whatever he became would be well aware of his little predicament, as well as the means and contingencies he’d put in place to control the situation he now found himself in. But… would it even want to? Could the mindflayer inherit his morality? Illithids largely shunned the Weave for all it had to offer – Would it be compelled to rescind every measure he’d arranged to its own detriment? Might they know better how to control the tsochar, given their similar natures? Worse… would it use his conduit for nefarious means?</p><p>Gale sighed, his moment of tranquillity broken, and turned his gaze to the sky. Its cloudless depths blazed brightly with the mid-afternoon sun, tugging and stretching their shadows into shapes that only further fuelled his imagination. His new companions were poor distractions as well. Every now and again he’d feel their minds brush against his own, try as he might to hem out the chatter.</p><p>Most were mere impressions that they appeared unaware of sharing– fragmented memories and mild sensations. Others were less so, private things so badly shredded he could make little sense of them. They clawed at his defences and resulted in short-lived but painful migraines. Those he knew to guard against. A gift of their mindflayer larvae, it seemed – to tear into the thoughts of others that bore a similar affliction. But such passageways had a tendency to go both ways, and that he could not afford. Gale would not share his secrets with these strangers, or his shame.</p><p>Fortunately for him, none of them were magically inclined – they probably didn’t even know to gird their minds. Truthfully, he couldn’t have become so adept at it himself had he not already been saddled with the tsochar, fending off its constant assault on his system. His interests lay in the Weave, not psionics.</p><p>As it was, Astarion’s thoughts were a roiling mess of emotional peaks – a counterpoint to Aster’s on-going mental catalogue of things to do and measurements of flora and fauna. Lae’zel’s were surprisingly prosaic for all he’d read about the githyanki – as cold and ambitious as your average Waterdhavian noble, though perhaps with more teeth and steel.</p><p>A foreign memory bled into his thoughts then, as though drawn to his introspection, of endless fields of golden wheat, and he directed his focus again to building up the walls around his mind with its scaffold of Weave and will.</p><p>“You’ve been quiet a long while.” Aster said, slowing her gait and falling into step alongside him. She arched a brow at him quizzically and made a vague gesture at her head. “Did you… not come back okay?”</p><p>Gale blinked. Of all the questions he thought his resurrection would trigger, that had not been one of them. “No, the scroll worked perfectly – as it should, having scribed it myself.”</p><p>“我肏。” She rubbed the space between her eyes. “Your ego’s certainly come out of that tussle unscathed. Are you always this full of yourself?”</p><p>He smirked unabashed, “Only when it’s warranted. I’m assuming you didn’t stop by simply to ensure that my head hadn’t swelled beyond control?”</p><p>“Lae’zel’s a bit much,” she shrugged with a huff, “and I’d forgotten to return your pouch of things.” She tossed the small woven sack at his open palm. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she watched him fumbled to catch it. She tipped her head at him in question once the matter seemed well in hand, so to speak. “So… Why <em>do</em> we need to be saved from your demise?”</p><p>Gale fastened the pouch to its original place over his left hip and smoothed out his robes. “Because, it would bring about catastrophe, of course," he blithely deflected. "Not to mention the loss of my exceptional company.”</p><p>She wrinkled her nose. “It’s big, but I’m pretty sure most of us could survive the implosion of your self-confidence.”</p><p>“Hah!” She hadn’t meant it as such, but it was a bitter irony nevertheless. Had Gale shown any measure of self-restraint when he’d gone out in search of the book of portals, things might have played out quite differently. “You don’t know the half of it. But I fear that’s about as much as I can say on the matter. You understand, I hope.”</p><p>“I don’t.” Aster glanced at him sidelong, and it seemed to Gale, for a moment, that she’d have more to say on the matter. She didn’t, much to his relief. Deceit wasn’t something that came easily to him, though he’d bear its mantle diligently in this. “I don’t suppose it really matters if we don’t find a solution soon. I can’t say I prefer seven hrasted days of uncertainty to the two that your death puddle would provide, however.”</p><p>Uncertainty indeed… He’d seen none of the changes in themselves that he had expected to see. He pressed his lips into a line, humming pensively. “I’ve been thinking, actually… Are you familiar with the stages of ceremorphosis?”</p><p>“It hasn’t come up in my readings, no,” she replied drily, though the crease of her brow belied her concern. “I thought it just sort of… popped out, but lethally.”</p><p>“Quaint, but no.” He said, delighting in the way it pushed her buttons after her previous digs. She seemed to take it in stride, to her credit.</p><p>“No doubt it’ll happen eventually,” he continued, “but it’s a gradual transformation for the most part. Your mind warps as it’s devoured by the worm over the course of it, while your body changes to accommodate the parasite’s needs. It forces the skeleton to elongate painfully and your organs to shift, stretching old skin till it splits like a taut sheep’s bladder.” He flexed his fingers, scrutinizing his hands as he did before – fingers, nails and skin – turning them over. “But it has been two days now... Our skin should be greying, we should be wrecked with fever and hallucinations, but we aren’t.”</p><p>“That…” was too familiar, and yet not. Aster thought of the woman in her capsule, clawing at its walls as she was replaced by an unthinkable creature. She’d been ready for that – quick, clean, however gruesome. She never expected to go gently, withered and grey in a warm bed… She tried very hard not to expect anything at all these days, but something about this gradual decline crawled under her skin.</p><p>“How can you even know that?” She shook head, her steps slowing as she struggled to wrap her mind around what this new reality implied. “It sounds outlandish. And like you said, we’ve seen no signs.”</p><p>Gale waved a hand dismissively. “Things I’ve come across in my own studies of the esoteric. The point is that the ceremorphosis of our tadpoles isn’t progressing as they should.”</p><p>“You’ve never seen it happen, then?”</p><p>Gale arched a brow. He was used to getting some pushback against lesser known assertions like this, but Aster seemed more puzzled than accusatory. It made him unsure of what to make of her query.</p><p>“Once,” he said, watching her worry away at her lower lip, “through the eyes of another.”</p><p>It wasn’t enough to assuage whatever concerns she had, that much was clear, and he half expected Aster to try to barrel her way through his thoughts as Astarion so often did to little success. But the girl merely picked up her pace and retreated into her own silent counsel.</p><p>“Not something I’d attempt on a full stomach, mind,” he continued conversationally, following suit. It helped to keep them distracted, “though a stiff drink surely helped afterwards. The stuff of nightmares… One might easily believe that they arrived from a realm of madness.”</p><p>She huffed at his rambling and Gale had the uncanny feeling that she wasn’t buying his attempts at diversion. When she spoke again, it was to cut straight to the point. “There was a woman on the ship,” she said, picking nervously at her bandages. “She turned in an instant. It… her face was split in two. But it was immediate.”</p><p>Gale’s brows shot up, a dozen questions suddenly on the tip of his tongue but a chill ran down his spine before he could give voice to even one of them.</p><p><em>“Leave it!” </em>came the memory of Lae’zel’s voice, fluttering past his ear, sharp with urgency and a touch of fear. <em>“Touch nothing that you don’t understand!” </em></p><p>
  <em>But she had to know; anticipation. Those last runes… she couldn’t make sense of them, but this one…  </em>
</p><p>Gale catches a glimpse of a psipod. An illithid lays slumped inside, its breathing laboured, a mess of skin and blood at its ankles. He ground his jaw. It was a trial to have to keep this up. More than that, it galled to miss an opportunity to knowledge so rare. But he shouldn’t look, much as he wished to, and he wove the barrier around his mind tighter.</p><p>“That is… remarkable,” he breathed, scratching his chin as though to tease an appropriate response out of its whiskers. “I’ll not ask how you came to witness such a thing, though I am sorry you had to at all.”</p><p>He watched as her mind seemed to drift. Aster was young, by Gale’s measure – no more than a couple winters past twenty. Not that It meant very much these past years, marked by chaos and tragedy as they were. The calamitous events of the past decades had, for all appearances, subsided, but Faerûn continued to feel its effects in its natural world and its people. Most common folk had their lives upturned in multitudes, though they could hardly begin to process why, and the cities along the Coast still struggled for resources – first from disrupted trade routes and famine, then later from managing the influx of refugees of crises from further east. It was only two winters ago that things began to pick up again, and recovery seemed within reach.</p><p>And yet, the illithids’ methods were unthinkable, even to himself not so long ago. And Gale had to wonder why Aster didn’t seem more fazed by these recent events.</p><p>But those were distant concerns while the answers he desired in that moment were close at hand, “I don’t suppose you could describe something more of it? Anything that might have appeared out of the ordinary; what might have triggered it?”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed, and Gale cursed inwardly. He’d been too eager… or could she have known what he saw? No, he hadn’t said anything out of sorts. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to risk it. Decent tracker as she was, they had better chances of finding their way out of these woods with Aster, and he would need capable allies soon enough as the tsochar’s hunger grew. He wedged a metaphorical brick into his wall of will and chose his next words carefully.</p><p>“Any clue to their origins could help us better understand the strangeness of our tadpoles.”</p><p>“And what would I have to compare it to?” She retorted, fidgeting with the tie of fabric at her palm. A fresh spot of red began to bloom over old cracked copper, and she squeezed her hands into fists, tucking them under her arms. “It was triggered by a lever – that much, I know.”</p><p>“A controlled transformation…” Gale hummed sceptically, scratching his chin.</p><p>“I suppose.” She sighed, rubbing a knuckle across her nose. “Where were you in all this anyway?”</p><p>Gale shrugged absently. “In some sort of stasis, probably. I remember having a tadpole shoved in my eye. The next thing I know, I’m washed up ashore, surrounded by fire, debris, and devourers that were all too eager to prove their namesake.”</p><p>He mulled over what she had described. It wasn’t much to go on. And he’d never heard of a ceremorph turning so quickly or abruptly. Perhaps this was different somehow. Either way, it suggested  that they could turn without warning, or that they could avoid it entirely so long as they avoided its trigger, whatever that might be.</p><p>He said as much and Aster snorted in reply. “Tell me something I don’t know.”</p><p>“It’s more than I knew a moment ago,” he supplied amicably, “The good news is that the tadpole, a typical one at least, can be removed by a competent healer. The poorer news, perhaps, is that we don’t know just how atypical ours are, or if they’re even susceptible to the same things. Regardless, it doesn’t change that we must focus on removing them.”</p><p>“Mayhap Tymora will grant us her favour,” she said, claiming the epithet without much conviction, “Lae’zel thinks she overheard something about a druid grove being nearby.” She lifted her gaze from the dirt road they’d been following to the sun-tipped mountain peaks further west, scratching the side of her nose absently to avoid picking at her bandages again. “A lead on her créche’s whereabouts could be thereabouts as well.”</p><p>“You don’t sound convinced.”</p><p>Aster paused as a voice of command rasped for them to move their<em> istiki</em> behinds from further up the road.</p><p>“Druids aren’t good for much in my experience. They’re more concerned with nature than they are with people,” Aster replied, picking up her pace.</p><p>“And if these other githyanki are anything like Lae’zel,” She continued, bending to scrabble over a particularly steep rise before offering a hand to help him scale it as well. “I’m fairly sure they’d sooner gut us than cure us. They certainly showed us no consideration while we were still careening through the hells.”</p><p>They both grunt as she pulls him over, chunks of pebbles and dried earth crunching underfoot and tumbling down the slope.</p><p>“And yet you follow her.” He said, holding her gaze, trying to parse her intensions with what he saw there. Aster’s choice of companions seemed questionable enough, himself least of all. Now she didn’t even seem invested in the solutions they were risking their lives to chase down. He couldn’t decide if she was nihilistic, feckless, or simply naïve.</p><p>“Hardly. We’re working together.” Aster snatched her hand from his grasp as her expression shuttered, and he got the distinct impression that she was speaking of him as much as she was of their githyanki companion. “I don’t have to trust her.”</p><p>“Mutual interests make for strange bedfellows?” Gale quipped, to which she merely shrugged. He pursed his lips. “Druids are masters of nature. They can make bloom, or they can make wither. As for the githyanki, if anyone were to know something about the illithids, it would be them.”</p><p>“You don’t think they’ll simply turn us away… or worse?”</p><p>Gale wasn’t sure. It’d be hard enough to persuade the average person that you weren’t dangerous as a developing ceremorph… If they somehow found out that they weren’t just turning into illithids, but possibly a new sort of illithid… suffice it to say, he could name peers who wouldn’t think twice about sticking him under a bell jar to be ‘observed’… and a few organisations what would just as easily kill them rather than risk their presence in their midst.</p><p>“We’ll just have to cross that bridge when it happens.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I promised myself I'd let myself write further ahead of the chapters I post to avoid having to go back later to change things I've already published... but I still do it anyway. Ah well.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, this lead’s a bust,” Aster muttered, dusting dirt off her hands. They’d been pacing the length of the side of the mountain long enough for their bellies to begin to grumble and Lae’zel to insist, pointedly, to find them all dinner. But the sun had drifted low past the mountains some two bells past and there still was no sign of the grove the tieflings had spoken of – only a smattering of tracks that led to nowhere.</p><p>“They just turn in circles and lead away before tapering off.”</p><p>Nearby, Gale had settled down on a fallen log to rest while Astarion continued to feel along the wall of vines and stone, his fine features a placid alabaster mask that quirked and twitched occasionally with mild interest or humour.</p><p>“All the more curious. I bet we’ll find a secret passageway hiding beneath this overgrowth. Oh! Populated with some devious pirates! That is how these stories go, isn’t it?”</p><p>“There are tales about four strangers lost in the woods, seeking out druids to remove mindflayer tadpoles from their heads?” Aster’s lips twitched at the absurdity of it as Astarion shot her a withering look.</p><p> “You just had to remind me.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind hearing it.” She shrugged unapologetically and rocked back on her heels. “Better than living it.”</p><p>“If this were some chapbook fantasy, we’d probably be cured by now, making merry with all manner of delectable delights,” Gale groused, pulling a scavenged blanket tighter around himself to fend against the late evening winds. He sighed forlornly as he pictured it in his mind. </p><p>Astarion slanted his gaze at the mage. “And what would tickle our spellblade’s fancy, I wonder.”</p><p>“Right now? A warm bath, and an even warmer drink.”</p><p>It was getting cold. The seasonal chill they barely felt during the day would not be held at bay by the fading sun’s rays. Aster tucked her hands into her vest pockets and hunched inwards as she gave the mess of footprints, and what she could only assume were markings made by the drag of a tail or a particularly energetic snake, a closer look.</p><p>Some led away, heading further west – a mix of small and larger prints that sat shallow in the dirt. The ones that circled were faded, but not so very old. Faint though they were, closer scrutiny revealed fresh seeds and broken grass that still dotted some crevices, as though someone had made a half-hearted attempt to go over them with fresh dirt. A decoy, perhaps?</p><p>“Hmm…”</p><p>“Found something?” Gale asked, titling his head.</p><p>“Not sure yet.” It was a long shot, but also the last one that daylight would allow. Soon, it would be too dark to see. And the elf was right – it was a little suspicious how all the tracks from before simply came to a dead end by the side of an unscalable rise.</p><p>She started by backtracking along some of the fainter prints, ignoring the ones that led too far away from where they already were. After some false starts, it seemed clear that most of them ended somewhere further along the wall where the vegetation had grown more densely.</p><p>The vines there grew strangely – straighter and cleaner than nature would typically allow. And now that she saw it, it seemed odd that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. Perhaps it was the low light of the evening that helped accentuate them, lighting certain geometries in yellow and gold while the rest fell into shadow.</p><p>Aster ran her fingers along the crisscrossing lattice of bark and fine leaves. Most of the wall was cool and wet from humidity, others she found to be warm to the touch, forming lines and figures that were oddly shaped, almost like writing.</p><p>“Over here,” she said, calling them both over. “What would you make of this?”</p><p>Gale padded over and leaned in, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ as squatted to warm his hands by a particularly warm portion of the rocky surface. “Ah, blessed heat. I don’t suppose that’s normal.”</p><p>Gale looked to her again when she didn’t reply. Sher had gone still, staring at the wall with her thoughts far away. He snapped his fingers before her face. “Aster?”</p><p>“What?” She blinked and rubbed her eyelids like her head hurt. “Shit, it’s getting cold, isn’t i- hey!”</p><p>Gale tugged her by the shoulder as he stepped backwards to survey the slab of stone. Whatever was happening there went beyond its unusual heat. There were moments when it seemed that the outline of vines clearly hid something of an inorganic nature, only to have that notion scattered in a blink. And it occurred more often the longer he tried to concentrate in a spot further down…</p><p>Gale blinked owlishly and shook his head as it happened again, like cobwebs settling over his mind, making it tacky and sluggish. How long had he been standing there, staring into space? Had it happened before? Before…</p><p>Distantly, he thought he heard the chattering of voices trying to distract him from his task… which was…?</p><p>A sharp pain at the centre of his skull brings him back to his senses, enough to notice a deep warmth radiating under his palm, warm like summer earth. It sought to lull him into a stupor, and his tadpole would not allow it. It thrashes and urges him to press forward. So, he does, anything to make it stop.</p><p>The surface gives way and they’re rewarded with the scraping of stone against stone. Beside him, Aster let out a delighted whoop as the rock peeled aside in a series of interlocking plates to reveal a narrow opening fit for one. A fine mist of dirt billowed out of it, and then, silence.</p><p>Inside was pitch dark, to the humans at least. Astarion poked his head in while Gale hung back warily and Aster worked to recover from a mouthful of dust in a coughing fit. Whatever magic had hidden the place seemed to have ended at the door, and his elven sight laid its shrouded interior bare for him to see.</p><p>“Someone lived here once by the looks of it, long enough to set up shop,” he mused. There were crates packed in a corner, with barrels that showed only some signs of age. Somewhere further in, two stone idols stood vigil over a sealed entrance way. “I’d say we found ourselves some elaborate smuggler’s route, but…”</p><p>Aster looked at the elf questioningly, only to find that he’d somehow managed to turn even paler as he floundered away.</p><p>“What’re you…” Then, it hits her – air that had been sealed on the other side of the door was wafting up from its lower levels, and it stank like a dozen oxen had gone and shat in a heated cell and died.</p><p>“Talona’s shitting spit!” She pressed both hands over her mouth and nose, backing away. “It smells worse than a sewer in there.”</p><p>“More than a little outdoorsy… Someone’s been flushing their waste here, I think… and bodies” Gale choked out. He stood off to the side of the noxious opening with a hand over his nose and his eyes watering. He rummaged about in his pockets, quickly fishing out some sprigs of rosemary and mint which he proceeded to crush them between his palms.</p><p>“<em>Caeli increbresco</em>,” he murmured, letting the words wind through the broken fragments and carry the spell into the cavernous space.</p><p>For all of a couple minutes, it appeared to have worked and the smells coming from the cavern resembled those of a pile of old socks more than a city’s worth of waste. But when it returned – and it did soon enough – it was with a vengeance, arriving in waves, each one worse than the last.</p><p>It was overwhelming. Gale wasn’t the sort to give up easily, but he knew better than to fight a losing battle. He stepped away with some reluctance and went to join them further upwind where the elf was dry heaving into the grass. “Mystra’s mercy… That is foul. I’ve never hoped to stumble upon some sign of civilization less.”</p><p>“That” Astarion gagged, “was nothing even close to civil.” He spat and leaned against an outcropping of rock as he fought to catch his breath, undoing the top stays of his doublet and fanning himself. “Don’t expect me to go anywhere near it until it clears out.”</p><p>Gale snorted in silent agreement, and Aster sighed, sinking into the grass. No one in their right mind would venture into that shit-stinking hole. “The tieflings mentioned goblins.”</p><p>“I'd say it smelled like the work of goblins, but they aren't the sort to leave bodies behind when they could simply eat them.” He watched the mouth of the cavern with a look of concerned, as if he expected something worse than the smell of a hundred latrines to leap out of it. “I find it unlikely that we’ll find anyone still alive, however. Judging by its rancid bouquet, whatever is in there has been a week dead.</p><p>And that ward was a powerful one. If there were druids here, perhaps it was their last defence.”</p><p>“A curse?” Astarion arched a brow.</p><p>Gale shrugged and pulled the blanket close again. “I haven’t sensed anything magical from it. I fear that was most likely just good, old fashioned manure, piss and decomposition.”</p><p>Aster wrinkled her nose and looked at the empty doorway, a secret lovingly carved into the side of a mountain. With its wards removed, they could see the runes that surrounded it plainly. They curved alongside the vines and roots in an elegant script that fanned out in the shape of a great aspen. Shadows and dappled light would dance and sway each time the wind blew. It seemed alive in those moments, as much as the forest around them, coated in the rosy hues of the setting sun. It would have been beautiful if not for… everything that hung over them. As it was, it was hard not to focus on the fact that they were another day down.</p><p>“So much for sanctuary,” Aster hummed, twisting a blade of grass by her ankle and flicking it into the wind.  </p><p>“We could well have stumbled upon something else entirely.” Gale piped in, an unconvincing assertion even to him.</p><p>“And ruin any chance of continuity with our little misadventure?” She scoffed with mock outrage. “Worst chapbook ever.”</p><p>Gale chuckled. “It’s the twists and turns that make for an engaging tale – builds up drama for later sequels.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind for when bards come clamouring to novelise our sorry selves.” Aster returned drily and rocked back onto her feet.</p><p>“We may as well get a fire going. I don’t know how much further we’ll be going tonight.” She continued, tiredly stretching her limbs as adrenaline from the past hour seeped out of them. “I can’t wait to hear what Lae’zel has to say about this when she gets back.”</p><p>**</p><p>The squat quadruped shuffled through the undergrowth, its meaty jowls quivering as it grunted and whuffed. Were it up to Lae’zel, she’d say the animal was acting all too pleased with itself for a creature that was about to be dinner. And had its nose not been pressed so closely to the forest ground, it might have caught a whiff of the githyanki stalking it through the high grass.</p><p>It was no sizeable thing – about enough to fill their bellies for a night – but it would have to do. She had been gone long enough and the sun was getting low.</p><p>She readied her bow, holding it low as she watched its progress with interest. The appendage at the end of its long snout glided over dirt and grass with an agility that was almost mesmerising.  Who knew that there were creatures on Toril that could still capture her curiosity? It was almost a pity that they were so weak, for they would not have survived past a day amongst the predators of K’liir.</p><p>Or could they? Lae’zel stilled as it lifted its head from rooting about in the grass, its eyes and ears suddenly alert. Could it have sensed her after all?  </p><p>She wasn’t about to give it a chance. She strikes with a telekinetic fist, holding the creature down by the neck and lets loose her arrow to tear through its exposed underbelly – a perfectly coordinated attack, she thinks. It lodges in the base of its jaw with a satisfying squelch, skewering the creature from sternum to throat.</p><p>She keeps it pinned as she makes her way over, its frantic squeals already faltering with its waning breaths. It crumples on its side after a few more. The creature is barely moving by the time her feet are in line with its cloven hoofs. Lae’zel doesn’t wait to put a clean cut to its throat and still it entirely. It’s a simple kill.</p><p>She moved in silence, retrieving her arrow before stringing its legs together with an old root, quick and efficient. There was no need for ceremony here – it wasn’t a prized trophy from a hunt, it was barely food. Lae’zel scowled. Such mundane tasks were more suited to the weaker g’lathk, but she was not about to stand about dithering while <em>istiki</em> searched for a way into the mountain. It was galling to find that there was little she could add to such a search. Loathe as she was to admit it, this planet remained strange to her in a way that it was not to them. This, at least, she could do.</p><p>Lae’zel hefted the dead animal over her shoulder awkwardly. The gravity of Toril was different from what she was used to on K’liir. Though the settlement kept a persistent field to enable the propagation of crops other feed, as well as to facilitate their training, it was still different from what she was experiencing, now that she was on the ground for it. It seemed like a gross oversight, given their plans to invade Undermountain within the fortnight.</p><p>She seethed. After it all, she would miss this chance at glory in Vlaakith’s name – a storming of the <em>ghaik</em> colony that had been a thorn in the side of the Githyanki for a good century. It would have been a skirmish that rivalled any other she’d seen before.</p><p>That she would now find herself turning into <em>ghaik</em> herself, so close to their date of departure, was unbearable, a weakness on her part that she must correct. She could not remember how she was taken, though it was evident that she had been on her own from the start. The other psipods carried none of her kin, let alone those of her crèche. But, given how quickly they were able to turn the human, it was equally possible that anyone she might have recognised had long been turned.</p><p>Lae’zel grunted. The <em>istiki </em>would serve for now while she learned how to navigate these lands. Some of the <em>Kith’rak</em> had managed to follow the nautiloid through its wormhole, and more would surely follow. If they were interested enough in the <em>ghaik</em> vessel to chase it through the Hells and beyond, she would find her people soon enough.</p><p>She left the denser woods behind her and paused on the rise of the moor, narrowing her eyes at a spot of light in the distance where their little group might have been. Either someone had found them, or the useless Torilans thought to squander their time with frivolities while the tadpole threatened to change them irrevocably.</p><p>Lae’zel hummed low in her throat as she drew her blade. They tried her patience constantly with their lollygagging. Perhaps beheading one would impress the severity of their situation on them, or she could make it slow and… The githyanki stopped mid-thought, wary of their rising malevolence. She fought viciously, true, but she wasn’t bloodthirsty. As warrior of dignity, violence was a means to an end. Such thoughts belonged to crass pirates that indulged in base cruelties… or the <em>ghaik</em>.</p><p><em>Cunning… </em>The githyanki sneered as her fingers dug into the sword’s grip, wondering if the tickle in her brain was something she had simply imagined. Days had passed without a sign, but she itched in that moment to put an end to it, if only to spite the parasite that was eating her from the inside out.</p><p>No, the death of one githyanki barely out of her crèche would mean nothing to <em>ghaik</em> scum. Better to live another day and take her fight to the Githyanki’s mortal foes than to succumb to death without even trying. Her grip loosened, though she wouldn’t sheathe the sword yet. She heaved her kill higher on her shoulder and stalked towards the camp.</p><p>Sure enough, the three looked ready to hunker down for the night. Astarion was the first to spot her. He raised his gaze from the knife he was sharpening to eye her catch with a bored expression.</p><p>“A pig? How droll, though I intend to go down kicking and screaming. Now, if it only had wings…”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed. “What purpose would that serve? It would only make it more troublesome to catch.”</p><p>“You are a literal creature, aren’t you?”</p><p>“We are all creatures of a kind. At least I’m not a slothful one.” She snapped, dropping the dead animal near the fire where the humans sat. The mage had his nose in a book while the female was boiling up some rags.</p><p>“肏, don’t you start.” Aster chided, looking the dead boar over appreciatively. She shrugged her vest off to lay aside before moving to string the hog up from a sturdy branch nearby. “We’ve found something. Just haven’t had a chance to investigate yet.”</p><p>“Why not? Daylight is burning, as you <em>istiki</em> say. Each moment we spend doing nothing, is a moment the <em>ghaik</em> tadpole has spent maturing while you were sitting on your thumbs.”</p><p>“How do you know all that, but not more common colloquialisms?” Aster muttered, rolling up her sleeves. She got to work scoring lines along its legs and joints as she recounted what they’d learned so far.</p><p>“I wouldn’t go in there till the air clears,” She continued, making efficient work of tugging the hog’s skin off to its head, “I’d give it till well after dark at least, but feel free to give it a whiff and decide for yourself.”</p><p>Lae’zel hissed and left the human to her butchering. She headed in the direction Aster had indicated, stopping short of the crevice in the mountain as a gust of wind blew past her. It coated the insides of her nostrils with the smell of rot.</p><p>“Unpleasant, isn’t it?” Astarion appeared at her elbow, a half-peeled apple in one hand and a sprig of some weed in another. “Here, put this to your nose,” he said, offering the leafy vine.</p><p>She arched a brow and sniffed at it suspiciously. It had a sweet leafy aroma that masked some of the smell coming from the cave. ‘Peppermint’, he’d called it, as she held it up near her nose. “You don’t need it yourself?”</p><p>He gestured to his nose and she noticed an oily sheen just above his upper lip. “I wouldn’t go in there alone,” he said, continuing to turn the apple in his palm as he shaved its red-streaked skin off with a small blade, “but it doesn’t mean we can’t help each other out a little bit. I saw something in there that the others don’t know about just yet.”</p><p>“And?” Lae’zel demanded when more wasn’t forthcoming.</p><p>He clicked his tongue. “Gunpowder, and oil. There were crates of it.” When the githyanki only continued to glare flatly at him, he rolled his eyes and huffed. “Explosives, darling – fire, blowing this up – potential to inflict a great deal of damage.”</p><p>“And how does that help me?” She snapped, tossing the sprig of peppermint aside as it started to overwhelm her and regretting it almost immediately.</p><p>Astarion looked down at her sidelong, the moonlight turning one blood-red iris silver. “Because knowledge is power, my friend; who knows how things will pan out once we’re down there.</p><p>Or,” he shrugged, letting his shoulders fall as his tone turned light again. He nicked the last bit of apple peel off the end of its base and let the ribbon of rosy skin fall to the ground with a soft thud, “it could mean nothing at all. Who’s to say, really?”</p><p>Lae’zel considered the elf. K’lirr’s great libraries painted the elves as canny foes whose long lifespans and fey heritage leant them a perspective that many lesser <em>istiki</em> lacked. She had yet to see Astarion in battle, but he exhibited a ruthlessness she could respect that the humans seemed to find distasteful.</p><p>“And you would tell me this before you do your other companions? Why?”</p><p>Astarion made of show of tilting his head in an appraising manner, letting his gaze rove over her form with a deliberate slowness that set something in her alight. “Perhaps I simply recognise strength when I see it.”</p><p>“As do I, though it has yet to become apparent in our travels so far.” Lae’zel bit back harshly.</p><p>Astarion smirked and met her eyes as he bit into the fruit. The sound was delightfully wet and crisp, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it chased the moisture it released across his lips.</p><p>“Until you do, then.” He said, words thick with promise, and returned to their meagre camp, leaving Lae’zel to her own thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're wondering about all the Chinese terms that are suddenly appearing, it's because Aster's of Shou descent, but I wasn't sure how to write it in when I first started. I'm still figuring it out, but I think I have a better feel for how I'd like to do it. I realise that the Shou language is meant to be written in draconic. Using Chinese is for myself mostly. It reads better to me. I use it for the same reason I'm reducing the number of 'hrasts'. Aster's a potty mouth and fr swear words are really clunky to me. Even its equivalent for f--- sounds like my grandmother in a summer dress. For now, I'm just running with the idea to see where it goes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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